Pygmalion's Art
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: Joan decides to make another try at acting, in a college play called Pygmalion's Art. But real life keeps intruding... PLEASE REVIEW
1. Invitation to a Play

**Pygmalion's Art**

_(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with JOAN. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

_(Author's Note: This story is part of a series that takes place after the JOAN OF ARCADIA TV show ended. A listing of the other stories is on my profile. The main events that have happened since May 2005 are _

_(1) Joan has let Grace, Luke, and Adam into her secret _

_(2) Joan and Adam got married in June, 2006 on graduating from high school. They are now attending a small college named Baconia University._

This story starts in September, 2006)

**Chapter 1 Invitation to a Play**

**PYGMALION'S ART**

**DRAMA WORKSHOP**

**ALL STUDENTS WELCOME**

**GLOB THEATRE, 8:00 Tuesday**

Adam had just finished reading the sign on the college kiosk when he heard a female voice behind him. "Pygmalion? Do they mean My Fair Lady?"

"It says Pygmalion's ART," he answered automatically. "Maybe it's the original ancient myth." He turned to see whom he was speaking to. "Elizabeth!"

"Hi, Adam," said Elizabeth Grozman. "It's odd we haven't talked here in college, seeing we come from the same high school."

"We parted last time on rather awkward terms." The last he had seen of her was her rear end, after a nude-modeling session had gone sour and she had stomped out the door. She was quite attractively clothed now, light blue blouse that actually meshed well with her jeans, and it appealed to his artistic sense. They walked away from the kiosk, to get some privacy and let some other students read the signs.

She was remembering the incident on different terms. "Yeah. I'm sorry I bopped you on the beanie. I got flustered."

"I was rude. I didn't mean to imply that there was anything wrong with your, um—"

"You wanted Joan. I figured that out afterward. So you two are married now?

"Yeah. Living in an apartment off campus. And I got a little studio on the edge of town."

She looked back at the kiosk. "I think I may go to that workshop. I haven't got involved in drama here yet." She had been an actress at Arcadia High, playing in everything from GODSPELL to WEST SIDE STORY to something weird called QUEEN OF THE ZOMBIES – which turned out to be another God Spell. "What about you?"

"After my scenery fell down at the high school musical? Who'd hire me?"

"Maybe it's volunteer."

"You know what I mean."

"Well, it's your choice. I know I'm going." She gave a goodbye wave, which looked eerily like one of God's departures.

Adam retrieved his bike and rode out to his studio, glad that Baconia University was in a small, quiet town where such transportation was possible. He spent a couple of hours working on his current sculpture, which he called "UnNamed Object #1". In fact he rather lost track of time, and realized that he needed to cycle back to home as fast as he could.

Joan was sulky. As he entered the flat, she had the TV on in the background, which did not seem to be entertaining her much. "Where were you?"

"Studio. It's a bummer, having it so far from our apartment."

She snorted. "The real bummer is having to wait for you to decide to come home. I'm not going to be a fifties sitcom wife, with dinner waiting for the hubby when he decides to come home. I've got my own career to study for." She picked up a tureen. "Have some cold soup."

"Thanks, Jane. It's all right, I can eat anything."

"Including my cooking, is that what you're implying?" Second bad choice on Adam's part. Joan was from a family that valued good cuisine, and where evening dinner was a family ritual.

"No, I—"

"_**You two should really get out more."**_

The startled couple looked around to see who had made that last comment, then realized that the television was talking to them.

"Oh, great. Big Brother is watching you," said Joan.

_**"I'm always watching over you, Joan, but it is out of love**_," said the TV.

"I bet Big Brother said that too. I've been reading **1984**, for a class, as You obviously know."

_**"This is 2006, Joan. And you are lonely. You find it difficult to get involved in social activities because you live off-campus."**_

"Well, yes. The dorms don't take married students into account. Which is silly, because there are lots of unmarried couples living there."

_**"I can't rewrite the dorm policy, Joan. Free will. But there are other ways to meet people. Tell her, Adam."**_

"Tell her what? Oh. There's a drama workshop starting tonight, Jane. I ran into Elizabeth Grozman, and she's interested in it."

_**"A chance to meet people, Joan,"**_ said Television God. "_**Not just any people, but those who are interested in the arts, exactly the sort Adam would like**_."

"I don't want scenery to fall on my head again," she said, but she spoiled the effect of the complaint by giggling.

"It won't, I promise, Jane." He kissed her.

"Well – OK. What time?"

"8:00."

She looked at the clock. "7:15 now. We won't have time to heat the soup."

"As I said, that's OK, Jane." said Adam.

"Just one more thing." She addressed the television. "No more Big Brother, OK? Next time, let us argue in peace."

_**"Peace be with you, then, and may you enjoy the give-and-take. I will follow your request."**_ The television turned itself off before Joan could reach the remote.

Joan and Adam looked at each other. "Looks like we have a new mission," said Joan. "I wonder: is it just socializing, or does He have something else in store when we get there?"

Adam was less apprehensive than his wife about missions, maybe because he had been on less of them. "I guess we'll find out."

TBC

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The incident where Elizabeth posed nude for a painting of Adam's is from one of my other JOAN stories, TO THE FAIREST.) _

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The title will be explained when they get to the workshop, in Chapter 2.)_

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I changed God's exit line after Haruka Minamino complained about it._


	2. Thrashing it out

**Pygmalion's Art**

**Chapter 2 Thrashing it out**

_**(AUTHOR'S NOTE: **__since a lot of people on this site, including me, are amateur writers, I thought that it would be fun to write a story episode about writing a story.)_

As Joan sat on the front row of the theatre and looked around at the other participants, she felt much better. God was right, this was what she needed: more contact with other people.

Presiding over the session was a woman named Laura Chen, of an age that Joan still considered "grownup" even though she was now a wife and legal adult. She had the participants, about a dozen in all, introduce themselves. Joan couldn't keep track of them all, but a few stood out. She knew Elizabeth, of course. There was an African-American named Robin Wallaceson, who said he was a junior majoring in engineering but was interested in drama in his spare time. There was a slender, blond boy named Phil, whom Joan might have considered very handsome if she had not met Adam and Cute Boy God. There was also a sour-tempered girl named Agnes who reminded Joan of Grace, except that she was brunette.

"So where are the scripts?" asked Phil.

"We don't have scripts," said Ms. Chen. "This is a workshop. We'll come up with our own script. Everything from scratch."

"Oh, crap!" exclaimed Joan, then she went red when everybody stared at her. "Sorry. But I was in a high-school production where everything was improvised, up to the last minute."

"I was in it too," said Elizabeth. "The final version never got rehearsed, and in the performance everything fell apart. It turned out to be pretty funny, but we wouldn't want to go through it again."

"This won't be like that," assured Ms. Chen. "We'll tie things down long before the performance."

"So what's the starting point?" asked Robin.

"The basis of the play will be the ancient myth of Pygmalion. Does anybody know the story?"

"I do," said Adam. "I read several books on mythology last spring." God had advised him that it might be useful to his art to know mythological imagery.

"Could you tell us?"

"Pygmalion was an ancient Greek king who was also a sculptor. He made a status of an ideal woman, Galatea, and it was so beautiful that he fell in love with it. He prayed to Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, to give him a wife like his statue. Aphrodite had an even better idea: she brought the statue to life."

"Excellent," said Ms. Chen. Joan was proud of Adam, who was usually inarticulate in groups. That myth must have had a special appeal to him as an artist. But there was something disturbing in the story-- "Now, what reactions does this story arouse? Anything that we can turn into a drama?"

One of God's most important lessons prompted Joan to speak. "To be truly human, Ga-Lacy or whatever would have free will, right? Suppose she didn't love Pygmalion? Or at least wanted some independence?"

"Very good, Joan. But that's been done before. Shaw's Pygmalion, where Eliza Doolittle rebels and demands that Higgins treat her with more respect."

"This Pygmalion guy is a real mess," said Agnes. "Doesn't care for anything but himself, or what he creates. Aphrodite should have kicked his ass and told him to get a life."

Everybody laughed, and Phil said "Agnes has a good point. I don't think we should change the story, but we could include that point of view somehow."

"How could we do that?" prompted Ms. Chen.

There was a few seconds of silence, then Elizabeth seemed to get an idea. "Oh! Add another character. An ordinary human girl, who tries to get Pygmalion."

There was a murmur of ascent, and Chen said "That sounds like a popular idea. What should we call the girl?"

"Gail," suggested Robin. "Like Galatea. Showing that they may be two sides of the same character."

The group seemed to like that idea, too, but Agnes objected, "Gail is not a Greek name."

"Do the characters have to be Greek?" Joan demanded. "We're talking about universal ideas, aren't we?"

"He doesn't have to be a king, either," said Phil. "That was just to impress the original hearers that he was somebody important."

"It would also be easier to get props, if we're not bound to a particular time-period," observed Chen. "Now, so far we've got four characters. Pygmalion, Galatea, Aphrodite, and Gail. How many of you are interested in acting a part?"

Phil, Agnes, and Elizabeth raised their hands, as did several participants whose names Joan couldn't remember. After some thought, Joan raised hers.

"Nine people," counted Chen. "I don't want too many to lose out. Should we add more characters?"

"I think the current character set is perfect for the story," said Adam, stubbornly looking at it from the artistic point of view.

"We could add a subplot that uses other characters," said Phil. "Lots of plays have subplots."

That generated a lot of discussion. But nobody knew many myths except Adam, who liked the setup as it was, and maybe Chen, who was staying neutral on purpose. Finally Chen raised her hand to get some quiet.

"Almost 9:00, and some of us have schoolwork for tomorrow. How about this: people interested in a subplot look for possible storylines, and bring them to another session?" Everybody seemed agreeable. "All right. Those interested in auditioning for parts, try to get an audition piece ready in the next few days. Is 8:00 Thursday OK with everybody? Please leave your Email addresses so that I can get in touch."

As the others crowded around to write down their addresses, Joan rejoined her husband. "You didn't raise your hand, Adam."

"Naw, don't think acting's my thing, Jane. I express myself in other ways. But I'm willing to help out."

"The statue! You could make the statue!"

"Maybe. But I'd have to make it very good, to make people believe that Pygmalion would fall in love with it."

"It'll be great. Go on and volunteer." She smiled as Adam approached Ms. Chen. This whole project was going to be wonderful!

TBC


	3. Joan's Facades

**Chapter 3 Joan's facades**

_(Disclaimer: if the THREEPENNY OPERA is still under copyright, I reiterate that I am writing for fun and deriving no profit from this story)_

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The ring tone for Joan's cell phone is the opening line of the show's theme song, "What if God was one of us?")_

Thursday Adam went to the theatre ahead of Joan, to talk about props. On approaching the theatre he stopped to contemplate its bizarre shape, which had won it the nickname of the Glob Theatre. The architect had explained that the work was avant-garde; the joke around campus was that the "garde" had turned and fled in terror at the site of it. But the interior functioned well enough to put on plays.

Helen Girardi had taught Adam long ago to keep samples of his work, to show prospective patrons. The work of which he was proudest, the Judgement of Paris, was now hanging in the house of a Baltimore millionaire, but Adam had been careful to keep photographs of it, and he included it his file of samples that he brought to the Glob.

Chen seemed fascinated by the picture; after all she had an interest in interpreting mythology. She pointed at the nude representation of Aphrodite in the center, the one posed for first by Elizabeth and then by Joan. "That's your wife, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Um, the face is hers, but I got the body from the Internet." Joan had insisted that he tell that fib; she wasn't thrilled about everybody knowing how she looked naked. Unfortunately Adam seldom sounded convincing.

"Unless something better comes along, and I doubt it will, I'll give you the task of making the statue. We'll talk about the details later."

The participants started to wander in. Joan, to Adam's surprise, was wearing a long dress instead of the usual jeans.

"OK, we'll audition the women first," said Chen. "This is how we'll do it. The auditioner shall identify her piece, explain the dramatic background, and then act it out. I'll make the preliminary judgment after hearing from all the women, but I'll put it to a vote. OK?"

Everybody nodded.

"All right. Elizabeth Grozman?"

Elizabeth got up on the stage. "I'm giving Viola's speech from Shakespeare's TWELFTH NIGHT. Viola is secretly in love, but she describes her situation as if it had happened to a sister."

"Good choice," said Chen.

Elizabeth adopted a pensive air, as if trying to conceal a strong emotion. "_What's her history? A blank, my lord. She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought, and with a green-and-yellow melancholy, she sat, like "Patience" on a monument, smiling at grief. Was this not love indeed?"_

The audience applauded. "Very good, Elizabeth. Joan Girardi-Rove?"

Joan got up on the stage. "Another Shakespeare excerpt. I'm going to give Beatrice's speech from Shakespeare's MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, persuading her cousin not to let her parents marry her off."

"Proceed."

Joan straightened up and adopted a fake British accent and elegant tone. Adam was amazed at the transformation of his Jane, he had never seen her as an actress – in the high school musical her part had consisted of singing. But when he thought about it, she had put on an act for two years, hiding the most important relationship in her life from all her family and friends.

"_With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world – if 'e could get HER good will. Yea, faith, it is my cousin's duty to make curtsy and say "Father, as it please you"."_ Joan dropped a deep curtsy herself, looked down at the floor, and adopted a high-pitched tone to represent the submissive girl. Now Adam understood why she was wearing the long dress. _"But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy and say, "Father—_" She dropped another curtsy, but on the last four words she raised her head to glare at the audience, and adopted a firm tone that said she wasn't going to take any crap: _"—AS IT PLEASE ME."_

The drama team laughed and applauded. Only Adam knew that there was a subtext to the speech: that Joan knew she was being watched by a "heavenly Father" who put demands on her, and she was reminding Him that she had free will to decide if she wanted to obey or not, "as it please me".

"Agnes Mertz?"

Agnes got up. "Pirate Jenny, from Bertholt Brecht's THE THREEPENNY OPERA. A servant girl's daydream about a pirate story turns into a revenge fantasy against her oppressors."

"Isn't that a song?"

"Yeah. But I'll just say the words."

With that Agnes threw herself into the tirade, frighteningly. The brigands definitely weren't Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean. _"--When they ask me, "Well, who is going to die ?" you'll hear me whispering, oh, so sweetly, "Kill them all!" Then the ship with the black sails and the fifty-five cannons, vanishes with me."._

Wow, this girl could give Grace lessons in foul moods. But it wasn't clear how the violence related to the Pygmalion story.

Two other girls gave auditions, and Adam couldn't remember much about them afterwards, though of course he was biased.

"All right, here's my preliminary verdict," said Chen. "Elizabeth, you were great at contrasting emotion and rigidity; I think you should be the statue Galatea. Joan, you did very well as a strong-willed articulate woman; I think you should play Gail. Aphrodite I'm still not sure about. Is that OK with you?" she said this towards the group of girls that had auditioned.

The girls. winniers and losers alike, nodded, except for Agnes.

"All in favor?"

A lot of AYEs.

"Opposed?"

"Nay!" shouted Agnes.

"Ayes have it. Ok, now we'll audition the men for the Pygmalion role, the same way. Then discuss the subplot, for others to play in--".

Joan's cell phone went off. A B C – E – E F G. Joan reached for her pants pocket, remembered that she wasn't wearing pants, and fished the phone out of her purse. "Hello -- WHAT?" A long pause. "Yes, yes, we're coming." She shut off the phone, looking very rattled. "Excuse me – gotta go. Sounds like an emergency."

"See you later, then. Hope it turns out well, Joan."

Adam knew better than to question Joan in front of everybody else. Too much of her life was secret. He simply followed his wife until they were out in the night air. "What is it?"

"Mom's here."

"In Baconia?!"

"Yeah. Parked in front of our apartment house, using her cell. She sounds real upset."

"Did she say why?"

"No. Says we need to talk face-to-face." Joan started running, tugging up her dress to avoid tripping on it. Adam followed, trying to imagine what was wrong. Unfortunately there were a lot of possibilities. Will Girardi could have gotten shot doing his duty as a policeman. Kevin Girardi or Adam's own father, both in poor health, could have had a turn for the worse. Lily, who was pregnant, may have had a miscarriage. But in all those cases, why didn't somebody call up, instead of Helen driving two hours to Baconia?

They reached the front of their house and saw Helen get out of the familiar car.

"Mom – what is it?" gasped Joan, out of breath.

"We'll talk inside. This is private."

"Do you want me to stay out?" asked Adam.

"No, you're involved."

They went into the apartment house, and Adam let them into the flat while the flustered Joan kept patting her dress looking for her pants pocket with the keys. The younger couple sat down and pointed out a seat for the older woman, but Helen stood there and glared at her daughter.

"JOAN GIRARDI ROVE, YOU'VE BEEN LYING TO US FOR THREE YEARS!"

"A—about what?" stammered Joan, bewildered as to what her mother might know.

"God!"

TBC


	4. Making Connections

**Pygmalion's Art**

**Chapter 4 Making Connections**

Joan sat very still, realizing that this was one of the most crucial conversations in her life. Give the wrong reply and she may lose her mother, or God, or both.

She decided from the start not to take the attitude that she was now a free adult. Both knew quite well that the secret started when she was 15, when Helen still deserved to be obeyed.

Nor would she demand to know now how Helen had found out. Rehashing that would probably make her mother even angrier. The real issue was betrayal.

Adam was silent. He knew that, though he was permitted to listen, this was between Joan and her mother.

"I never lied. I just never brought it up."

"Don't get legalistic with me, young lady. This isn't your law class. You concealed an immense secret from your loving parents."

"The first time I told a grown-up about God, I got sent to Crazy Camp!" Joan snapped.

The effect of that on Helen was much greater than Joan anticipated. Anger toward Joan was replaced with shock. "You mean, that's why the doctor – he said you were delusional, but wouldn't tell us how. Doctor-patient confidentiality. You mean, you were sane all along?"

"I don't know!" said Joan. "At the time I didn't know whether the visions were real or the effects of Lyme Disease. I asked him, thinking it would take just a few sessions in his office to straighten my mind out, not a summer in Crazy Camp."

"And we sent you there! Oh, my God. I'm sorry, Joan—" Helen seemed close to tears.

Now Helen had something of her own to feel guilty about, and Joan was tempted to lash out with her own accusations. But she resisted the temptation. This was the first opportunity in three years to deal honestly with her mother.

"It's all right, Mom. At least I met Judith there, gave some good ripples to the last months of her life, and maybe that was worth it."

"Thank you, Joan – let's talk calmly, now that there are no secrets between us. Tell me, who else have you told, besides the psychiatrist?"

"Adam and Judith, at that point. But they both thought I was crazy."

"Umm," said Adam.

"Don't apologize, Adam, I thought I was crazy too. Summer a year ago, Luke and Grace found out and I decided to tell them the full story. That Christmas, I told Adam."

"Yeah," said Adam. "Luke, Grace, and Joan kept having to freeze me out of their conversations, and things got awkward."

A B C – E – E F G

"Shut that damn phone off, will you Adam?" Joan asked irritably. "No phone call is as important as this."

"I'll take it." He took the ringing phone from his wife's purse and left the apartment.

"Where was I?" muttered Joan. "Oh, yes. Two of my girlfriends. Veronica Mars, and a Marghareta in Europe. But I don't think either quite believed me."

"But not your parents." This time Helen sounded just sad, not angry.

"How could I? Dad doesn't believe God exists; how can I tell him that I've been talking to Him for three years? And you – I've never quite understood what you thought about God."

"It's always been volatile. When I was growing up I went to Sunday School, Catholic school, believed what I was taught. Then IT happened."

Joan nodded somberly, knowing what her mother was talking about. The sexual assault, the first year of college.

"After that I had all kind of doubts. Why didn't the God I worshiped protect me better? Either He didn't exist, or He didn't care. Deep down I have always FELT that He existed, so it was a matter of figuring out why He failed. And I've never found a good answer."

"I hear that you attend Father Ken's church now."

"That's mainly to humor Lily. Even Will has agreed to go when she has her baby and gets it baptized. But being confirmed, taking an oath that I believe, I don't know if I can ever do that."

The rapport was now good enough that Joan decided to go back to the original question. "But you're convinced now that I go on missions for Him. How did you find out?"

"Long story. For all my life I've tended to have vivid dreams; you might even call them visions. Some I've turned into my paintings. The most recent one, an old lady appeared, identified herself as God – or should I say Goddess? – and said that our family had been serving Her for generations, all the way back into Biblical times. Including you. It had skipped me, because I had been tuning out the call."

"But that was a dream. Why did you believe it?"

"She gave me a sign. I was to contact a Cathy Xavier, who needed my help. I gave it a try, and Cathy Xavier really existed. She was extremely depressed, and with my experience I was able to figure out why. She had been raped by a cousin, during a family reunion."

"Oh, my God."

"And she was afraid to talk about it. No proof, and it would blow the family wide open. She wasn't pregnant, fortunately. I persuaded Lily to give her some confidential counseling, even asked Will if something could be done about the cousin. But after I had time to think, I remembered what the Goddess lady said about YOU. And then I thought back – all that wild behavior that started three years ago. Smashing Adam's sculpture. Fleeing the Christmas dance with the school bully. Offering to make love to Adam in the hotel where he worked! We used to blame that on your Lyme Disease, but the health authorities traced that to a horse pasture that you visited in the spring, and you were being weird long before that. As if you were marching to a different drummer, as Thoreau put it. The drummer had to be God."

"Yeah. Except He didn't tell me to make love with Adam; that was a big misunderstanding. But what made you so upset that you drove up here without warning?"

"Oh, Joan." Some of the anger came back into Helen's voice, but it was no longer directed at Joan. "Maybe you'll understand when you have a teenaged daughter, and you're trying to protect her from the world, and then you discover that Somebody is meddling with her behind your back."

"But, Mom, this isn't like that scary Lolita book. We're not talking about a child molester. This is _God_."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? I told you, I don't trust God. Maybe the ancient Greeks had the better idea, when they showed their gods as super-human but fallible. There's may be a lot more distance between _God_ and _good_ than just a letter. He's supposed to be a God of Truth, isn't He? But he encouraged you to lie to your own parents, whom He told you to honor?"

Joan could think of no good answer to that.

"Maybe He, or She, or It, is friendly as long as you cooperate, Joan. But if you think you can risk it, try saying No sometime and see what happens."

"Yes," murmured Joan. "Thanks, Mom."

"All right. Now, I've got to get back to Arcadia. Will doesn't know I'm here, and I gave a rather feeble excuse to be gone for several hours."

"You're not going to tell Dad?"

"Not now. I don't know how to explain it to him. Will you promise to be silent as well? Seeing that you've been doing that for three years anyway, it shouldn't be difficult.."

Joan winced. "Yeah, I promise."

"All right. I love you, Joan, and I hope that this will turn out OK, somehow."

"I love you, Mom."

They hugged each other, and then Joan saw her mother to her car. Then she ran back to her flat, threw herself on the bed, and cried.

Sounds from the entryway. "Jane, I'm back. I figured you two wanted privacy – Jane, what's wrong?"

Between sobs, Joan tried to summarize the conversation as best as she could. She left out the rape and referred vaguely to some traumatizing incident in her mother's youth. Some day Adam ought to know, but not now.

"But it looks like things worked out. I mean, she's not mad at you anymore."

"Oh, Adam, it's not Mom that's upsetting me now, it's God. Don't you see what happened? _God snitched on me!"_

TBC


	5. Joan Says No

**Pygmalion's Art**

**Chapter 5 Joan Says No**

The first priority was letting Luke and Grace know what had happened. This was difficult, because they had agreed never to talk openly about God over the phone or Email system. Adam and Joan wrangled over how to convey the text message and finally came up with an understated:

_Mom knows now. She's not happy about it._

Which, not surprisingly, evoked a reply from Luke at Harvard:

_I'll visit you this weekend. We need to talk. _

After that Joan was emotionally exhausted. When Adam explained the phone call – Laura had confirmed that he was to make the statue for the production – Joan merely nodded. She had always told herself that she would let her parents into the secret when the time was ripe; the success with which Luke and Grace had gotten involved had made her even more optimistic. She had not expected to have it happen messily, out of her control, jeopardizing her relationship with her parents altogether. And whose fault was that?

Adam knew better than to ask his wife for relations that night.

The next day, Friday, Joan started by simply going through the motions. There were important things to learn in class and so Joan attended them, writing down notes and making no attempt to get involved in discussion. After the final class, in mid-afternoon, she called her husband on her cell phone. Adam was going to meet with Laura Chen to get specifics about the statue. Should it be abstract, a mere suggestion to the audience? Or realistic, resembling Elizabeth as much as possible?

"Fine, you two work it out. I'm going for a walk to clear my head. I'll keep my cell with me."

Like Adam, Joan appreciated the advantages of being in a small town. After about a mile's walk she was nearly out of town, and there was little cross-traffic to contend with. It meant that the neat sidewalk turned into a dirt path or no path at all, but that didn't bother her much.

She passed a patch of woods, which gave way to farmland. On both sides of the road she could see horses grazing. Joan's experience with horses had been rather disastrous; a few weeks ago she had tried to ride Grace's horse without sufficient training, and it had run away with her. But a safe distance she could find the sight pretty. She tried to thrust all her problems out of her mind and let the impressions of the moment fill it. Adam could do that; that was part of what made him a good artist, and it might also explain how he survived the trauma of losing his mother to suicide. Joan, however, could not quite manage it.

She heard the methodical clip-clop of hooves on the other side of the road: somebody was riding up on horseback, probably the owner of the opposite farm. She turned around to see an athletic young woman astride a white horse, just beyond the fence bordering the road. Even with her limited experience with horses, Joan could sense that it was a splendid example of the species.

"Can I help you?" asked the equestrienne. "You look lost."

"No, thanks. I know the way back."

"I meant emotionally lost, Joan."

She glared. "You're God?"

"Yes. Cowgirl God, Grace calls me. I taught her how to ride."

"Well, I don't want to ride or anything else. Go away."

"Don't you want to talk about what's bothering you, Joan?"

"Read my mind! You snitched on me!"

"Interesting word, snitch," mused God. "It means to reveal the truth of a situation, but it's a very negative way of putting it."

"Yeah, well, why did You have to tell Mom about us?"

"Have I ever lied to you, Joan?"

"Lied, no. Given incomprehensible orders that You knew I'd misunderstand? Yes."

"I am the truth and the truth shall set you free."

"If I were a year younger I would have been grounded, big-time." countered Joan.

"I had to tell Helen the true nature of things, Joan, just as I do talking to you. It isn't my fault that you have been concealing your way of life from your parents."

"Okay, You're right, and I'm wrong," Joan said sarcastically. "Now that we've established that, can You ride away?"

"Yes, I can. But you've walked a long way, Joan. Would you like a lift back home?" She twisted in the saddle and patted the horse between the saddle and the tail.

"No thanks. I don't want to owe You a favor."

"Consider it free grace."

"No."

"Very well."

She pulled on the reins to make her horse face back toward the grazing lands, then turned in the saddle one more time. "By the way, Joan. I'm glad you've gotten involved in the theatre piece; it'll distract you from brooding. But taking on a role is a bad idea. Try helping Adam with his sculpture instead."

"Why?"

But Cowgirl God was already riding off with Her usual wave. If asked, she'd probably say that she was obeying Joan's wish to go away, and Joan would be in the wrong again.

Joan turned and started trudging back to town. Her role in the play: she had almost forgotten about that. Indeed, she was thinking of chucking her part in the whole drama project, and concentrating on her own problems. But she remembered her mother's parting advice: try saying No to God, and see what happens. God wanted her to give up the acting part, did She? Very well, she'd KEEP the acting part, and let the ripples flow as they may.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, it wasn't until about fifteen minutes later that Joan realized that she had a more immediate problem: she hadn't gone to the bathroom since this morning, and she needed to now. No bathroom nearby, of course.

"Oh, crap," she muttered, though that wasn't the exact problem. She trudged into the woods so that she could pee in relative privacy.

Pulling up her jeans afterward, it occurred to Joan that God must have foreseen this. If she had accepted Her offer and ridden behind Her on the horse, she would have gotten home in time to use her own civilized facilities. As usual, God was right and Joan was wrong.

Nevertheless, she was proud that she had said No.

TBC


	6. Luke Looks In

**Pygmalion's Art**

**Chapter 6 Luke looks in**

Joan felt better that evening, enough so to take a genuine interest in Adam's description of the Friday rehearsal. Getting back into the drama mode was a good distraction from her problems. She tried to remember who had suggested that, and realized with embarrassment that it had been Cowgirl God. She described the encounter to Adam.

"You don't think He'll get mad, and try to teach you a lesson?"

Joan had worried about that, but concluded: "No. He's always said that I had freewill, and could back out at any time. That bit about peeing in the woods, that was just nature catching up with me. Now, if a wasp or something had decided to sting me on the butt while my pants were down, THAT would have been suspicious."

Adam laughed and reverted to the subject of the drama project.

"Phil's family is rich. They agreed to donate 1000 to the production to cover costs. It's still volunteer as far as people are concerned."

"They better give Phil a big role," Joan said cynically.

"They already had. He'll be Pygmalion. It wasn't a quid-pro-quo. I think he looks the part."

As for the statue, they decided that it should look realistic.

"But that's something you've never tried before."

"We had ideas. We'll buy a couple of clothing dummies from a store. All I have to do is modify one."

"Ha! Clever. What about the subplot?"

"They've been thumbing through Edith Hamilton's MYTHOLOGY. Agnes wants a vindictive-goddess story, probably with herself as the goddess. Robin suggested an ancient scientist like Daedelus, to match the art story. Somebody suggested taking the Sirens from the ODYSSEY, another case of hypnotic art. They haven't settled on one yet."

"It's only been 3 days since they started. What's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"Not sure, but Chen wanted to make sure you'd be there. I just told her vaguely that you were handling the family emergency."

"I'll be there. I fell committed now. Let's Email Luke, direct him to the theatre if we're not at home."

That night, they couple made love. Joan had gotten over most of the previous day's depression.

The next day, Robin inadvertently caused an amusing brouhaha. "I was surfing the Internet, looking for information on the Pygmalion myth. I found this. It's a painting of Galatea and Pygmalion, by a French artist named Gerome."

The group passed around the printout. It was a clever portrayal: Galatea seemed to be turning human from the top down, so that her face and arms were kissing and embracing her beloved, while her feet still looked as stony as her pedestal.

But another detail sprang out at Elizabeth. "She's naked. Do I have to get naked?"

That produced some laughter, but Joan didn't join in. She HAD seen Elizabeth naked, in Adam's studio, and knew how embarrassed Elizabeth got about it.

"It's up to you," said Chen. "This is college, not high school; we don't have to worry about parents and administrators getting upset. But if you don't want to do a nude scene, we won't."

"I'd rather not."

"But I don't think I can mimic clothes on a dummy," protested Adam. "It will have to be undraped. And if it's to turn into the girl--"

For once Joan felt like slugging Adam, but Phil saved the situation. "I read the original story by Ovid. It said Pygmalion would sometimes dress up the statue. So we'll drape something around the dummy, and Elizabeth can imitate that."

"Thanks," said Elizabeth.

"Um, am I intruding?" asked a familiar voice from the back of the audience area.

"Luke!" exclaimed Joan.

She went up the audience stairs and gave him a hug. She had rarely been this effusive with her brother before, but this situation was unique. They had been separated for a month, and there was a lot to go over with him.

She turned back toward the others. "Guys, this is my brother, Luke. He's a freshman at Harvard."

"You're twins?" asked Chen.

"What?" asked Joan, startled. Then she realized the implication: siblings who were both freshmen in college would usually be the same age. "Oh. No, Luke's a year younger than me, but he got promoted an extra grade."

The drama group looked impressed; this was definitely an environment where braininess was admired, not dismissed as nerdiness.

"Joan, we have to talk," Luke whispered.

"Yeah (raising her voice) Luke and I need to talk a while. Can you go on without me?"

"Certainly, Joan," called Chen. "We'll be sketching out the plot next."

The Girardi siblings walked outside. There were some benches near the entrance, but nobody was occupying them or even near them. This was Saturday, when the student body was either sleeping late or pursuing their own interests.

"OK. What is it with Mom?"

Joan described her encounter. The conversation was such a shock that it was difficult to recall details.

"Is Mom mad at me, too?" asked Luke.

"We didn't get that far. But after all, I was at it for three years, not just one. And she's used to your going your own way – Einstein and sci-fi and all that."

Luke looked glum, and Joan knew why. The parents had always paid more attention to Joan than Luke, even when Joan didn't want it that way. Was Luke's interest in advanced science a result of the neglect, or a cause?

"God's really into dreams nowadays," Luke said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Something weird happened last week. First, I dreamt that Grace was in my dorm room. Later that night I dreamt that I was in her flat in Rome. And the next night, I dreamt that we were in a honeymoon suite, where we --"

"Yikes! I don't really want to know about a boy's operatic fantasies, Luke."

"That's "erotic", and actually, it isn't. In the third dream God appeared – one of the usual avatars – and said He had arranged for us to get together this way. The next day, I Emailed Grace and hinted at the dreams. She had had them too. Right down to, uh, the honeymoon activities."

"That's real weird. Did God say why?"

"Said he wanted us to be happy. But it sounds to me that it's too compensate for something that'll make us unhappy."

"Yeah. I've been unhappy before, and it didn't seem to bother Him much."

"And trying to recruit Mom. I think something big is going to happen, Joan, but I don't know what."

"That's scary."

"Right. Well, I'm determined to do one thing at least. I'm working on an encryption program, so we can exchange Emails without worrying about them being read somewhere else. Then we can talk openly online. I'll send it to you in about a week, and to Grace too. Maybe even Mom, if she wants to talk to us some more online." He got up. "So that's that."

"Wait! That's it? You're just going back to Harvard?"

"Is there anything else to do?"

"Well – I'd like you to visit the theatre group. Get your opinion of the play. Frankly, Luke, it's a relief to be involved in it. Takes my mind off this mess with Mom."

"OK, I'm game."

They went back into the theatre, and indeed the group was willing to tell him about the play. Unfortunately, at this point, everybody had their own ideas about it. Elizabeth and Joan disagreed which was the female lead. Phil wanted the play to be romantic, Agnes wanted a satirical approach. They even started appealing to Luke to judge who was right.

"Wait wait wait!" said Luke. "I'm afraid I just can't relate to the subject matter. A statue turning into a human? Internal organs from simple stone? DNA where it didn't exist before? It doesn't make sense."

"It's a fantasy, Luke," urged his sister. "Like that movie where the robot turned into Robin Williams."

"That wasn't sheer fantasy. The robot gradually implanted organic material in itself, the opposite of a human getting artificial parts."

"I see where you're coming from, Luke," said the engineer, "but it's a matter of suspending disbelief."

Luke thought. "Suppose it's a dream?"

"A dream?" repeated Adam. Joan knew where the idea was coming from, but Adam hadn't heard Luke's story yet, and she could scarcely explain it here.

"Yeah," said Luke. "Lots of fantasies get rationalized by being presented as dreams. Alice in Wonderland. The movie version of Wizard of Oz."

"And Pilgrim's Progress," added Phil.

"A series of dreams!" exclaimed Elizabeth, evidently struck by an idea. "In the real world, Pygmalion's stuck with Gail—"

"Gee, thanks a lot," said Joan. "I'm playing Gail!"

"--But in his dreams, his statue comes to life, turns into his ideal woman, Galatea," continued Elizabeth.

"Poisoning his ability to deal with real life," mused Agnes. "Which has been my point all along."

"I like it," said Robin.

"Does everybody like that approach?" asked Chen. There was a chorus of Yeses.

"So I'll be playing the Brand X girl that loses," fretted Joan. "Oh, well, I'll go along. Luke, remind me to kill you later."

(_AUTHOR'S NOTE: The Gerome paining really exists; I saw it when it was on loan to my city's art museum ten years ago. It can be found by Googling on "Gerome "Pygmalion and Galatea". There are two versions, showing the exact same scene, one viewed from behind Galatea and the other from in front.)_

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The science fiction movie that Joan teases Luke about is "The Bicentenial Man" , which failed in spite of Robin Williams' prestige)_


	7. Love Scene

**Pygmalion's Art**

**Chapter 7 Love Scene**

But Joan did not get the opportunity to commit fratricide. Luke stayed long enough to share lunch with the theatre group, then started his return to Harvard, remarking on an encryption project. Joan, realizing that he was referring to the chance to exchange Emails without having to fear interception, gave in.

Meanwhile Professor Chen was keeping the project moving. While half of the group focused on the unfinished business of the subplot, Chen wanted Joan and Phil to improvise a scene, while Robin recorded it on a video. If it "worked" they could start building the script around.

"I've never even worked with a script before," Joan confessed to Elizabeth, when they both happened to retreat to the ladies' room. "Back in the musical, all I had to do was sing. How am I supposed to make it up as I go along?"

"There ARE techniques," Elizabeth said. "Are you familiar with the Method?

"What method?"

"Stanislavski's Method. It's too complicated to explain, but the main idea is to try to identify an incident in your own life that parallels the incident in the drama, so that you're expressing real emotion."

"Cool. I'll give it a try."

So Joan was to play a girl who was losing out in a love triangle. She examined her own love life. She did not want to dredge up all the angst she had felt about Bonnie. But there had been an earlier rival in sophomore class, Iris. Maybe Joan could channel that.

Thus, when she and Phil were up on the stage and Phil took a breath for his first line, Joan took a deeper one and shouted "There's another girl in your life, isn't there?"

Phil looked startled, but played along. "There is no girl."

To Joan/Gail that sounded like a legalistic defense, like a certain President's "That depends on what your definition of "is" is." "Well, something's tempting you away from me. You're definitely less ardent than you were. Towards me at least."

"I'm just fascinated by my work, Gail."

"Is there a cute model? Willing to pose with her clothes off?" That wasn't Iris, that was Bonnie, who had sent Adam nude photos of herself when Adam was frustrated over Joan's insistence on keeping her clothes on.

"There's no model, Gail. I'm creating my most recent work out of my own head, an ideal of beauty.

"So you're seeing beauty in your head. Not in me."

"You contribute to the ideal, Gail."

"I'm still not convinced. You haven't let me come spend the night with you for a week. You haven't been carving in the middle of the night, have you?" Now Joan was engaging in sheer invention. Except for one botched attempt, Adam and she had not spent nights together until they were married.

"I've been -- dreaming, Gail."

"Dreaming?"

"Yes. Let me be totally honest, Gail. I'm dreaming about the statue."

"The statue, the statue. Let me see the damned thing."

Phil performed a gesture as if removing a protective sheet off of an object. Joan did her best to look impressed and annoyed at the same time while looking at nothing.

"Well, it's – ideal all right. I can see how it appeals to you. It won't argue with you, or have bad breath, or have to crap once in a while. But can it do THIS?" With that, Joan/Gail dashed forward and gave Phil a big hug and kiss, remembering her passionate reaction on finding Adam after he failed to show up at her wedding.

Phil seemed completely stunned by this latest gesture, and it was some time before he could improvise the next line. "Um – actually, she can. In my dreams, she comes to life."

Joan released him and backed up. Unable to think of a new line, she stammered: "What? How?"

"I don't know. It seems that Aphrodite is sending me the dreams."

"A god?" How should Gail react to the news that a god was interfering with her life? Elizabeth had advised that, when in doubt, think of a parallel within her own life. And Joan had an example close at hand: yesterday's encounter with Cowgirl God, when Joan tried to express her frustration while God sat literally on Her high horse. "Why do Gods always have to interfere in human lives? It's not fair. You can't keep a God out of your life, because She's everywhere. You can't argue with a God, because She knows everything. You can't appeal to Her for sympathy, because She never suffers anything that she doesn't want to. Why can't Gods leave me alone?"

Looking around, she saw that everybody was staring at her, even the committee that was coming up with a subplot. Had she blurted out her secret? No, the caution learned over three years had kept her from doing that. They were just bewildered at these sentiments coming from "Gail" about "Aphrodite".

"Sorry. Just ignore that part. Isn't there a story that you're supposed to be looking for?"

The committee chairman cleared his throat. "Ahem, ues. We found one. The Sirens."

"Why the Sirens?" asked Chen.

"Both stories share the idea of a work of art taken to an extreme. A picture so beautiful that somebody falls in love with it. Music so beautiful that it lures people to their deaths.

"Proving that the wise course lies in moderation, as Aristotle said," observed a philosophy student. "Not in studying the extreme "ideal", as Plato claimed."

"When I was in Rome, I saw a picture of Aristotle and Plato debating," remembered Joan, relieved at the change of subject.

"Raphael's SCHOOL OF ATHENS, very famous," said Chen.

"That's another idea," said Robin. "Why not bring Plato and Aristotle into the play, arguing the theme and posed like in the picture? Um, they're not nude, are they?"

Joan burst out laughing. "No. Search the web for the picture. But I like the idea."

"We certainly have a lot of material now," said Chen. "Let's transcribe the Gail/Pygmalion dialogue. Tomorrow we start mapping out acts and scenes."

Joan looked around the theatre as the group started to break up. "Where's Adam?"

"Your husband went out while you and Phil were doing the improvisation," said Agnes. "Said that he needed to take the dummies to his studio. I suppose, if one of them is supposed to resemble Elizabeth, it'll need a bigger ass." Joan noted that Agnes' own rear end was not too prominent. Was that a hint that she had wanted Elizabeth's part?

"Hey!" shouted Elizabeth. "I resent that!"

"I guess I'll see him at home, then," said Joan hastily, before the two girls could start a catfight.

But she didn't see him at home. Instead her husband had left a message on their voice-mail, that he might be working all night at the studio. And he hadn't bothered to say good-bye at the theatre. What was going on?

Joan was starting to feel like Gail.

TBC

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Method Acting" is a genuine technique used in drama, though of course Joan is taking it to amateurish extremes. Joan saw the "SCHOOL OF ATHENS" paining in my earlier story "Joan in Italia")_


	8. Theology for Dummies

**Pygmalion's Art**

**Chapter 8 Theology for Dummies**

Joan had always made it a point never to call her husband at the studio, not wanting to interrupt him "in the middle of artistic creation". But he usually called her. When it became evening and Joan still did not hear, she was getting worried. Finally she did get a contact around 9:00 – from Robin Wallaceson.

The engineering student told Joan that he and Adam had rigged up a device that would melt the plastic off one dummy and allow Adam to apply it to another, to change the shape. "So if Agnes is right," Robin said cheerfully, "and the dummy needs a butt enhancement, we can give it to her – um, it."

"That's great," said Joan unenthusiastically. "Can I speak to Adam?"

"Oh, he's gone to Starbucks. Said he needed a lot of coffee to keep him up during the night. You know, I was confused for a while when he kept referring to you as "Jane". For a minute, I thought there were two women in his life, ha-ha."

"Ha-ha," said Joan, and she switched off the phone.

At least she knew now that he WAS working at the studio, on the drama project. But he still didn't call. Maybe he was carried away. Maybe he remembered Thursday's argument and just didn't want his wife pleading for him to come home to wifey. Joan didn't want to be a wifey or a nag.

Next morning was Sunday. Neither Joan's family nor Adam's had ever been churchgoers; to them Sunday morning was a leisurely time. But Joan was not in a leisurely mood. When the time approached noon and still no word, Joan was annoyed enough to pay a visit to the studio herself.

As she walked in the door of the multi-use building, she spotted the live-in housekeeper coming down the stairs. "Hello, Ms. Girardi-Rove. Looking for your husband?"

"Yeah."

"He's gone out for a while. Didn't say where, but I'm sure he's coming back, because he told me not to clean up any of the mess."

"Thanks." Joan waited until the friendly but gossipy woman went off, then let herself in the studio with her own key.

It definitely was a mess. In addition to Adam's usually habit of leaving half-finished projects lying around, there were several department-store dummies piled up on the floor. One was missing a fore-arm, apparently the victim of Robin's experiments the previous evening. His cot did not look slept in.

On a sketch was a pile of papers which might have disturbed most wives, because they were various sketches of naked women, most of them missing a head to concentrate on the body. Joan had not seen so many butts and breasts in her life. But of course they made sense in the current situation, because Adam had been asked to make a dummy look like a lifelike nude statue. Indeed, the papers proved that he HAD been hard at work. But in spite of the work, there was something "off" about the drawings.

Joan sat down on the cot, next to the pile of dummies, and pondered what to do next.

"Are we the only dummies here?" asked a mannekin.

"Aiiiiieee!" screamed Joan, jumping up and backing against the desk. Then she realized what had happened. "That's a new low for You, isn't it? Speaking through a mannekin instead of a human? Or is there little difference from Your point of view?"

"There is a vast distance, Joan. Humans have souls, mannikins are mere images of humanity."

"Thanks a lot. So what do You want? I was not in the mood to be submissive Friday in the horse pasture, and I'm certainly not in the mood now. Did you hear my speech yesterday? I've got tons of things on my platter. I'm trying to make a new marriage work. I'm trying to adjust to college life. I'm trying to decide when it's time to have a baby. I'm worried about Grace going to countries in crisis. I don't know whether to tell the rest of the family about You or risk another blowup, like with Mom. Can't you give me some space?"

"I have a simple request, Joan. Dr. Chen Emailed Adam a clip of yesterday's improvisation. I suggest that you play it back now."

Joan was not feeling very obedient, but her curiosity got the best of her. She booted up the computer, found the clip, and played it.

Joan's own image came up onscreen, with Phil. She could hear a tinny version of her own voice. _"Well, it's – ideal all right. I can see how it appeals to you. It won't argue with you, or have bad breath, or have to crap once in a while. But can it do THIS_?" With that, the image of Joan dashed forward and gave the image of Phil a passionate kiss.

"Oh my God. Is that what it looked like?"

"Cameras don't lie."

"It was acting! I was thinking of making out with Adam!"

"He interpreted it differently."

Joan paced around the studio. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you? Back on the horse, you said I should pull out of the acting role."

"I foresaw it."

"And I didn't take your advice. So this is my punishment?" She waved her hand around the studio.

"No punishment, Joan. It was just a natural sequence of events; ripples, as you like to call them. I've told you all along that you have free will. How can it be free if you feel that I am threatening you? Joan, I want you to be happy with Adam, and that is why I am talking to you now. That is My free will. Not a quid pro quo."

"Thank you. But now that you've told me the problem, let me solve it."

As if on cur, the door opened, and the mannekin fell silent. "Jane! What are you doing here?"

Adam was scarcely at his best. He had not shaved yet, and he looked exhausted from having worked all night. But he was Adam, and Joan loved him.

"I'm your wife."

"Yeah, but—"

"I know what's bothering you, Adam. I saw the tape, and I could see what it looked like. But it was all play-acting."

Adam sighed. "I knew in my heart that you would never betray me, Jane. But I couldn't get that image out of my head. I had to get over it before I saw you again. I tried to throw myself into my project, but it didn't work. It just got me deeper into sexual confusion."

"I could tell. Frankly, those nude sketches suck. But maybe I can solve several problems at once. Your image of me, your project. Lock the door, Adam, and pull all the blinds on the windows." She picked up the previously-talking manikin and positioned it to face away from her.

"Why?"

Joan started unzipping her jeans. "I'm gonna pose nude for your statue!"

"Wait -- " cried Adam, embracing Joan in love and relief. His wifee responded with a lingering kiss. "I think I'm feelling the difference already--

TBC


	9. Pygmalion's Art, Act I

**Pygmalion's Art**

**Chapter 9 Pygmalion's Art: Act I**

_(Author's Note: I would like to thank my beta, Briee, for reformatting this chapter. In the original version I used typographical tricks to separate the stage action from reality, and ended up with one big mess. Galatea's sentences are lines of poetry, though I was unable to format them that way.)_

A nice student found good seats for the Girardis: not only a broad landing for Kevin's wheelchair, but three adjoining seats for Will, Helen, and Lily, with a good view of the stage.

As the house lights went down, a middle aged woman appeared on the stage.

"Good evening, I'm Professor Laura Chen. During the past month, our workshop has put together a play called PYGMALION'S ART, starting with a one-sentence idea and evolving an entire play in which the participants literally created their roles. Now, it is the audience's turn to participate. Imagine that the bare stage that you see is Pygmalion's studio. To the right an exit to the street, to the left the entrance to his private house. When you see characters garbed in black, ignore them. They are stagehands to keep the story moving smoothly."

Helen understood the concept. The "invisible" stagehands were an idea from Japanese drama, and certainly more economical than having to hide the hands to preserve the stage illusion, as Western drama traditionally did.

"Now let the play begin!"

Two men entered the stage from the right. One was a heavyset black student made up with a gray beard and hair, the other a much younger man seemingly in awe of the older.

The older man pounded a staff on the floor in imitation of knocking on a door. A handsome young man in a smock entered from the left and pantomimed opening the door. "Yes?"

"You are the artist Pygmalion?" the older man asked.

"I am."

"I am Aristocles, although many men know me as Plato."

"And I am Aristotle--" the young man started, but Plato handed Aristotle his staff with a gesture to shut up.

"Yes, I have heard of you. The great philosopher," Pygmalion said.

"And I have heard of you. May I offer a philosophic opinion of your art?"

Pygmalion nodded. "I would be honoured."

"We live in a fallen world, but we are not trapped there. Every soul came down from heaven." He pointed upwards, like the famous painting in the Vatican. Adam had probably suggested that. "In heaven, everything is ideal, and the soul has a memory of the ideal. As an artist, you have the gift of translating your memory into visible form, so that others may see and be reminded as well. This sculpture of a discus thrower is pretty, but it represents no ideal."

"How would I go about expressing the ideal?"

"What exalts you the most?" Plato asked.

"I am betrothed to a wonderful girl named Gail."

"When you are drawn to her beauty, try to imagine it as an image of a more heavenly beauty."

"The goddess Aphrodite?" Pygmalion asked, guessing.

"Even the goddess is a symbol of something purer. Absolute beauty. Think of that and translate it into sculpture."

"I will do as you say."

"Very well." Plato turned to his companion. "Come, Aristotle."

The two begin leaving the state when Aristotle, sotto voce, said, "I actually kind of _liked _the Discus Thrower--"

"COME, ARISTOTLE," Plato repeated, more imperiously. The two philosophers left the stage, leaving Pygmalion standing lost in thought.

The invisible stage hands carried in the "statue", with a sheet over it, and set it up in the middle of the stage. Obviously a new scene was starting.

Joan entered from the left, which represented the interior of the house. She gave Pygmalion an amorous glance that startled Helen; the real-life Joan reserved such expressions for Adam.

"It was a wonderful night. Should I come again this evening?" Joan said, acting in her role as Gail.

"Not this time, Gail. I need to work on my statue," Pygmalion said, preoccupied.

Gail looked at the draped statue and said, "You're very excited about it, I can tell. I can't wait to see it." Now Helen could see Joan drawing on her love for Adam and his art.

"When it's finished. But I promise you that you will be the first to see it," Pygmalion said, absently.

"He's acting like a jerk", whispered Lily.

"I know. Part of the story," Helen whispered back.

Joan started to exit to the right, but nearly bumped into a formidable woman coming in, costumed like Xena the Warrior Princess. Joan dodged out with a squeak.

"I am Agonistea of the Amazons," said the woman.

"I am Pygmalion. May I help you?" he said, as they shook hands. Her grip nearly crippled his hand and he winced slightly.

"I have heard of your project, the ideal work of art. I wish to do the same in the world of music."

"You wish to become a great musician?" Pygmalion asked, incredulously.

"No! I'm going to capture one."

Everyone in the audience laughed.

"I don't understand."

"According to Homer, the most beautiful singers in the world are the Sirens. I will capture one of them."

"But it's said that any man that comes near them is shipwrecked."

"Exactly," Agonistea said, her face beaming as if Pygmalion had proved her point. "Any MAN. But I am a woman, and should be immune to their song. I'll teach those bitches a lesson, and bring one back to Greece. We will have the music without the danger."

"Clever. But why come to me?"

"I wish to buy a figurehead for my ship. I heard of a decoration in the form of a lyre--"

One of the invisible stagehands handed a wrapped prop to Pygmalion. He turned back to the Amazon. "Take this for free and may the gods smile upon your enterprise."

Agonistea took it and left. Pygmalion turned to the statue and took off the sheet. From the audience it was an amazingly convincing nude, seen from the back. Adam had done a wonderful job, though that was not what impressed Will.

"JOAN modeled for that?" he whispered.

"Yes. But we're not supposed to talk about it."

Will looked troubled. It had been years since he had seen his daughter unclothed, and yet here he was seeing a copy of her backside displayed in a crowded theatre.

Pygmalion beamed at the statue. "Cold, my dear? Let me get you a cloak, a beautiful cloak." An invisible stagehand gave him the cloak, which he wrapped around the statue.

"This is getting weird." Lily whispered. Apparently in her transition from nun to surfer girl to pregnant wife, she hadn't read classical mythology.

"If only Gail was as beautiful as you. If only I could meet a woman as beautiful as you--"

A crash of thunder and the lights went out. As they came back on, Helen realized that Elizabeth, the stage-struck girl from Arcadia, had substituted herself for the statue. She bent down and kissed Pygmalion.

"You're alive!" Pygmalion said, springing back.

The animated statue began speaking.

"Thou art my lord, 'twas thou who gave me birth. Thou gavest fire to a lifeless thing of earth."

"It wasn't me, Galatea. The gods must have done this." Pygmalion said modestly.

"Thou madest me, I do not think it odd. As far as I'm concerned, thou art a god. Wouldst have me cold as ice or hot as fire? I will strive to answer thy desire."

-- replied Elizabeth as the statue.

So they had the statue speak in rhyming iambic pentameter, Helen noted. A clever reminder of her artificiality. But she hoped that the verse was INTENDED to be bad, and didn't just come out that way.

She missed something while musing on the poetry. Pygmalion and Galatea had come to an understanding and exited to the left. To Pygmalion's bedroom.

The lights dimmed, then rebrightened, to show the passage of time.

Joan, as Gail, entered from the right and called Pygmalion. She, or rather Gail, accused him of betraying her with another girl. He claimed to be preoccupied with his status, and ended unveiled it to her. Unfortunately he also admitted to loving it in his dreams. He claimed the dreams were from the gods, and not his fault.

"The will of the gods? How can I compete with gods?" Gail said, upset. She exited to the right, distraught.

Pygmalion knelt to the statue, oblivious to his girlfriend's anguish. "Now, my Galatea, we are alone!"

The lights went out to end the Act.

Helen looked at the playbill to match up the characters with the actors that Joan and Adam had described. "Plato" was Robin Wallaceson; Agonistea was Agnes Mertz, who had probably coined the Greek name from her own. But she kept focusing proudly on the line "Gail -- Joan Girardi-Rove."

"I still say it's weird," said Lily, as people got up for intermission.

"I don't care about weirdness," said her husband. "I came to see my sister act, and Adam's handicraft."

"Oh, yes, great butt," said Lily with a grin.

Helen was less cheerful. She needed to talk to Joan and thrash out some issues, but she didn't want to distract the girl in the middle of the play. Maybe after the performance--

TBC


	10. Last Act

**Pygmalion's Art**

**Chapter 10 The Last Act**

Preoccupied with the desire to talk to Joan, Helen paid less attention to Act II, particularly when her daughter wasn't on stage. In the first scene, Pygmalion and Galatea were alone. He asked her opinion of a carving that he was working, but she just replied in a bland couplet ("It's perfect, perfect. Not a single flaw. Everything thou do'st holds me in awe."). Annoyed, Pygmalion explained that if he showed Gail a flawed piece of work, she would be frank about criticizing it.

"Do you really love me, Galatea?"

"I love thee. (_pause for thee beats_) That doesn't rhyme, But I may think of proper words, in time."

"No. Finishing your rhyme is more important than love, for you. Because the love is built in, and you don't have to think about it. When I wooed and won Gail, it meant something, because she had a free will, and could turn me down. She CHOSE me. And now she'll never choose me again. I am unloved, except by a image who has no choice. And I why should I complain? I do not deserve to be loved."

He exited sadly to the left. Galatea, looking puzzled, followed him mechanically.

After a pause to indicate the passage of time, Joan, playing Gail, entered from the right with the two philosophers. Joan looked miserable, so much so, that Helen had to remind herself that it was just an act.

"You must not distress yourself so," said Plato pompously. "The love you feel is a mere animal instinct, a desire to join with a man so that you may bear children. A higher love—"

"I don't care about a 'higher love' " stated Gail bitterly. "I'm not even worried about children at the moment. I just wish that he would kiss me again."

Aristotle seemed about to say something, when Agonistea ran in from the right. "Is the sculptor here? I wanted to return this decoration he gave me—"

Aristotle recognized the Amazon by reputation and asked her about her quest to capture a Siren. Agonistea replied in a long dramatic narrative. She had sailed her ship as close to the Sirens' island as she dared, then left the male crew behind and set out in a rowboat. As she expected, the song of the Sirens was beautiful but not overwhelming to her. She faked an erratic course, as if hypnotized, and drifted beyond the Sirens. Landing, she managed to sneak up on the singers from behind and lasso one of them. The others cried out but made no attempt to rescue their sister; Agonistea was both relieved and contemptuous about their refusal to fight.

"So you have the Siren in custody?" asked Aristotle.

She didn't. Like a flower that had been plucked (Helen noticed that the girl was imitating a Homeric simile), the Siren began dying. And is she died she sang a different song, no longer beguiling but simply moving.

"It was the most beautiful sound that I ever heard, and I shall never hear it again," the Amazon concluded.

The audience went wild. After the applause died down, Pygmalion entered from the left.

"Where is Galatea?" asked Plato.

"There is no 'Galatea'," replied Pygmalion. "I told her to return to being a statue."

"But why?" asked Aristotle.

"I was a fool," said the artist. "My idea was to make an idealization of Gail – all of the virtues, none of the quirks. But once the quirks were gone, she ceased to be Gail. No longer a real human, just a figment of my imagination, and what pleasure is there in learning that you love yourself? Maybe I should destroy the statue."

"No!" said Gail. "Donate it to a Temple of Aphrodite, so that wretches that need some love and beauty in their lives might find it."

"You are far wiser than I, Gail. I will do it."

The self-effacing Aristotle suddenly spoke up. "There is a lesson here, from YOU and YOU," he said, indicating the Amazon and the sculptor. "The pursuit of an ideal can be evil, and destructive. One must accept the world as it is."

"An interest in the mundane world is unworthy of a philosopher," said Plato, as if the mere declaration was enough to flatten his pupil.

"The world is not mundane! The world is full of wonders, if one can only recognize them! A artist like Pygmalion can take cold stone and make a thing of beauty – how? A sailor like Agonistea can make herself mistress of a completely alien environment, the sea – how? Is love just a trick to get us to make more children, or can it inspire noble behavior? I cannot learn everything sitting at the feet over a philosopher. I want to discover things for myself. I want to see the world, and understand it."

"I still have my ship," said the Amazon. "Tell me where you want to go."

Aristotle left with the girl. Plato looked thoughtful. "What is love? Good or evil, trivial or profound. There's a philosophical doctrine there. I will call it ---- hmmmm --- the Symposium." He went out, leaving Pygmalion and Gail.

"I know that I do not deserve it, but will you forgive me, Gail?"

Gail looked stubborn, and Helen almost laughed, because she had seen the look on Joan dozens of times in the last few years. "Well, I'm not ideal like Galatea. I can hold grudges."

"I see," said Pygmalion humbly.

"But I can also do silly things, like continuing to love jerks who don't deserve it." She kissed the artist, and the two exchanged a glance. Then the Pygmalion actor picked up Joan and carried her off to the left, where the bedroom was supposed to be—

The play was over.

The audience was enthusiastic in their applause, and mingled with the dramatic troupe afterward. It was some time before Helen was able to get alone with her daughter. The entire cast, and even offstage helpers like Adam, was being mobbed by the audience. Later, as Will offered to pay for a celebratory dinner, Joan pled exhaustion and Helen made excuses of her own. Lily may have been puzzled at beingmped together with the Girardi men, but Helen would take care of that later. In fact that was one thing she wanted to talk to Joan about as they talked in the Girardi-Rove's apartment.

And even then there was a final intrusion, just before they entered Joan's apartment house. An attractive young man of about Joan's age walked up and said hi.

"Friend of Joan's? " Helen asked. "I've seen you somewhere before, maybe in Arcadia—"

"Sort of," said Joan. "This is God."

Helen started. A religious vision is one thing; a casual street encounter was another.

"Do you have another mission for me?" asked Joan. " 'Cause I'm kinda exhausted tonight—"

"No, Joan. Lovely performance, by the way. I just wanted to give you an assurance."

"A blessed assurance?" said Helen, remembering an old hymn title and trying to relieve the tension with a joke.

"If you like. Joan, you resented My revealing your secret to your mother without giving you fair warning. You have a valid point, and it will not happen again. We have a two-way relationship, even though the way is very vertical."

"Vertical?" echoed Joan.

Helen gave a nervous giggle. "I think He means: He is way up there and you're way down here."

"Well, thanks," said Joan, still looking confused. "But why didn't you warn me this time?"

"Let's just say God has His reasons of which reason knows nothing." He walked off with a wave.

"Let me get this straight," said Helen. "God just APOLOGIZED to you?"

"Soft of. Weird, isn't it?

The two women went in, anxious to get a little privacy.

"Joan, during the past month I've been staring at Will, Kevin, and Lily, and thinking: is it time to tell you? How will I tell you? Maybe I can't tell you yet. And I've realized that you've been going through the same thing for three years. It wasn't a deliberate attempt to lie to us. You've been burdened with an immense secret and didn't know how to handle it."

"Thanks for understanding, Mom. What about Lily? She has a strong religious background already, and at the same time she's open to weird ideas."

"Ordinarily, I would consider tackling her. But right now she's busy preparing for the baby. And I don't want to drive a wedge between her and Kevin. Having a wedge between Will and me is bad enough."

"Do you wish you had never received the revelation?" asked Joan. "Sometimes I do."

Helen hesitated. "Let me tell you about the Cathy Xavier case. She thought that perverted cousin of hers was lusting after another relative, and Cathy asked me what to do. I thought she should warn her relative. She did, and frankly all hell broke loose. The relative didn't believe her, thought Cathy was crazy. Cathy blamed me for giving her bad advice, and I was furious at God."

"Was?"

"Yeah. Because it actually did work out. The pervert started making moves on his new victim, but since Cathy had put the idea in her head, she recognized what was going on and the pervert got caught. So he is now in deep s ---- um, dudgeon – and Cathy's a hero. Looks like it's impossible to judge a situation from the inside."

"Unless you're Him, and know everything."

"Exactly. So I don't know how to advise you about working with Him."

"I learned a lot from the play," said Joan, in a seeming progression. "particularly since we had to invent the characters, not just speak somebody else's words. I looked up the real Aristotle. He really did say that one should avoid extremes and try to compromise – the "Golden Mean", the writers call it. That's what I intend to do. I don't want to rebel outright, but I also don't want to be taken for granted, like having my secret let out without warning. And it looks like He understands that."

"He read your mind?"

"More like reading my soul. I learned some other things from the play, too. About being married to an artist who sometimes gets too absorbed in his work. It's not a rejection or offense against me."

"Adam is a lot better husband than Pygmalion would be."

"I learned that too. And do you know whose idea it was to get involved in the play? God's. He's still guiding me even when I don't know it. If you want my advice, Mom, be open to going on missions."

"OK."

Banging on the apartment door. "Sorry to interrupt you guys," came Lily's voice. "But I REALLY NEED to use your bathroom. I'm not just eating for two, seems like I'm peeing for two."

Joan laughed. "Coming Lily."

The pregnant sister-in-law dashed in. "Thank you. Marvelous performance, Joan, and I want to hear all about it, but where's the potty?"

Joan pointed the way, and Helen lowered her voice as the ex-nun dashed away. "From divine mysteries to bathroom talk. It's a strange world, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But that line I urged "Aristotle" to add is true, too. The world is full of wonders, if we know how to recognize them----"

THE END.


End file.
